Exclamation Point
by Jazzi-chan
Summary: “No, this means I’m opposed to the idea of taking off my clothes in the midst of unknown and potentially dangerous cleaning supplies.” [ J a m e s & L i l y ]


**Author's Note ;;** I swore not to write any more M fics, and I certainly didn't expect to be taking on any more chapter fics until I've finished _Deck His Halls. _Oh well. Blames Fall Out Boy for manipulating my playlist.

**Disclaimer ;; **I am not J. K. Rowling. I am not really cut out to write humor. You recognize it, I don't own it. Please don't press charges. I'm afraid of lawyers.

"James," her chapped lips were hot as they moved over his ear, her breathing ragged as she forced the syllable between her breathy gasps. "James. James! JAMES! Stop!"

There was a loud clatter as he fell back against the other side of the broom closet into something warm, wet, and squishy and Lily distinctly heard the sound of fabric tearing beneath James's stream of profanity. She groped along the splintered, dusty shelves for the light switch, or the candle they had brought down here, or her damned wand, but found only a rusty bucket and a sponge soaked in Merlin-knows-what. "Christ, Potter, I didn't say kill yourself," she snapped, extending a hand in the darkness to help him up.

Unfortunately for Lily (and more unfortunately for James) she had mistaken his head for his hand, and sent his glasses clattering away into the black hole of the janitor's closet, rendering him completely blind. "Fuck, fuck, fucker, fuck."

"Oh, darling, I'm so—"

"Shut up and help me find my glasses, Lily," James snapped, irate as he backed further away from the mad woman of his dreams.

"Well, really," she huffed disobediently, but was cut off by a sickening crunch.

"Lils?" James squeaked, pain shooting his voice up through the octaves until it broke on a high-pitched screech. She caught her breath and squinted nervously into the dark. "I found my glasses. Fuck, fuck, fucker, fuck."

"Don't be a prick. You're fine. Just let me find my wand and I'll—"

"Lily?"

"James."

"I have glass in my foot."

He thought he could hear the distinct slap of her hand against her forehead, and his mind's eye showed him quite clearly the way the little wrinkle creased between her almond-shaped eyes. It made him horny.

"Never mind," he quipped good-naturedly, and lunged forward. His hands captured one of her shoulders and one of her breasts, pinning her backwards against the wall of shelves. James's hot, wet tongue devoured her chin, her nose, her cheek, and she moaned something unintelligibly against his throat. "Mmumphlpuff."

"Oh," he groaned. "Oh, yeah."

"Mmumphlpuff!" Lily insisted, more stubbornly this time as her little hands clawed at his tie.

"Hasty, are we?" James chuckled as his hands moved to undo the top button of his shirt with an agonizing lack of speed—a process that was hastened considerably by sting of her hand against his cheek. "Okay, okay, I'll hurry." He stepped backwards into an unnervingly thick puddle and tore at his shirt, leaving Lily gasping and clinging to the shelves behind her.

"Potter, you insufferable prick!" she snarled in a way that would have been incredibly sexy had it been directed at someone—anyone else. His excitement waned slightly. "Were you _trying_ to smother me or are you just incredibly thick?!"

"Er . . ."

"What _exactly_ do you think you are doing?"

James laughed nervously, shoving his hands through his hair. "Just, you know, moving things along a bit . . ."

The menacing silence from Lily's half of the closet prodded him into a stuttering, rambling explanation even Wormtail would have been ashamed of. "T-T-The thing is, L-L-Lils—Lily, w-w-we've been g-g-g . . . seeing each other f-for q-quite a long time now—"

"Eight months."

"Eight months, r-r-r-right. Eight months. A-a-and you—you see, L-Lily, t-t-the thing is, I . . . I thought maybe . . . if you wanted to . . . the time seemed right . . . thatmaybewecouldshag."

"You thought we could _what?_"

"It was Sirius' idea!"

"You thought we were going to _shag_ in Filch's closet?"

"Well, you see . . . The thing is . . . Funny story, really . . ." James wiped the sweat from his incredibly masculine five o'clock shadow. "Hey, _you_ dragged _me_ in here."

"I was _crying!"_

"And you're not anymore! See? I cheered you up."

"I am _not_ cheerful, Potter." He winced, slowly backing away from her until he was pressed up against something disconcertingly hairy and considerably less menacing than his tragically temperamental girlfriend.

"Well, you're not crying."

"So you pinned me against the wall in a broom cupboard and almost _raped_ me to keep me from crying?" Lily didn't sound as touched by the sentiment as James would have hoped.

"Hey, it's only rape if it's not consensual."

"IT _WASN'T_ CONSENSUAL!"

"You started it!" James protested childishly, shrinking into himself.

"How did I start it?"

"You blew on my neck! You _know_ what that does to me!"

"I hugged you!"

"And blew on my neck! Right. Here!"

"I hugged you and said I was _sorry_ for getting so upset over a stupid letter from my sister. I was _thanking_ you, not _blowing_ on your _neck_."

"I'm a teenage boy! How am _I _supposed to know the difference?!"

Lily fumed in silence, and James had a sneaking suspicion she was using the time to redo the buttons on her blouse. There went all his hard work.

When he had managed to inspect the red marks on his shoulder and discovered that they were not, in fact, love bites but rather red trenches dug by Lily's sharp little nails and she still hadn't launched into another round of attack, James allowed his breath to issue from his lungs in a great sigh. Lily echoed it from the other side of the cupboard.

"So . . ." James cleared his throat. She didn't interrupt him, which was as good a sign as any. "Does this mean . . . ?"

"Hm?"

"You know . . ."

"I'm not a mind-reader, James."

"Right, well . . . You know . . . Do you . . . I mean, does this . . ."

"Fucking Merlin, Potter, spit it out!"

"Doesthismeanyoudon'twanttoshagme?"

" . . . What?"

"Does this mean you don't want to, you know, sh—make love? To me?"

"No, this means I'm opposed to the idea of taking off my clothes in the midst of unknown and potentially dangerous cleaning supplies."

"So . . ?"

"Not a chance. You've completely killed the mood."

"Tomorrow?"

"Not likely."

"The day after that?"

"How about I just save myself for marriage?"

"I . . ."

"Yes?"

"I could wait."

Lily laughed, and not in the cruel, harsh way he would have expected, either. It was the sort of melodious laughter she granted him when he said something really, really funny. Except he hadn't.

James puffed out his chest, insulted. "I could!"

"Who ever said I was going to marry you, Potter?"

"I . . . Well, I just . . . You are, aren't you?"

"Not if you plan to propose like you plan to shag."

"I . . . Of course I don't."

"Good."

"So . . . ?"

"I'll think about it, James."

"Thursday?"

"We'll see."


End file.
